


Unyielding

by winternacht



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Desk Sex, Dubious Consent, Furniture coming to life and fucking its owner, Other, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 07:06:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17976677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winternacht/pseuds/winternacht
Summary: One of the first things Elias does as the new Head of the Magnus Institute is to replace the old desk with the one from Artefact Storage.





	Unyielding

**Author's Note:**

> A while ago, the topic of Elias' desk and its potentially magical properties came up on ffa, and I got inspired.

One of the first things Elias does as the new Head of the Magnus Institute is to replace the old desk with the one from Artefact Storage. It caught his attention the first time he went down there, shortly after he’d started working at the Institute as a desk clerk, still sceptical about the supernatural items the collection supposedly boasted. He laughed at the absurdity of some of the descriptions, until his gaze fell upon the desk, covered by a large piece of white cloth that almost would have made it look like a dinner table, had it not been for the usual sternly-worded warning labels.

In a moment of ill-advised curiosity that would later prove to be exactly what qualified him for the position, he lifted the cloth, revealing an imposing two-pedestal executive desk carved from dark wood, polished, with an elegant robustness to it. No excessive ornamentation, though the curved drawer handles with their wavy accents stood out slightly.

There were no inscriptions or intricate geometric patterns, like the ones he’d been told to avoid. He was surprised, however, by the abundance of knotholes, filled out so the surface was still smooth, but they drew the eye, and as he stared at them, he felt like they were staring back.

Now Elias knows that the desk is an artefact that belongs to his Master. All the more reason to keep it in his own office. James Wright knew too, of course, but he was always more cautious, more reserved in his worship though no less dutiful. But Elias Bouchard has always had an affinity for the unexplored, and it is far stronger than his predecessor’s reservations.

When a week passes without any incidents, Elias feels quite justified in his decision. Indeed, the desk seems to have a positive effect on his morale and work performance. There is little he finds more satisfying than being able to clear his desk of all but the bare necessities at the end of a productive day, such a contrast to the eternal stacks of papers and clutter that used to take over his workplace in the past.

All that is left for the evening is to draft a tentative schedule for next week. He is so engrossed in his work that the subtle sound of the tape recorder on his desk clicking on startles him – it’s not something he’s had the chance to get used to yet – his knees knocking against the bottom of the central drawer. Elias frowns. There should be ample space beneath the desk. But now that he looks closer, he sees that the pedestals seem to have moved closer too.

Instantly, he tries to push back his chair, but he’s already trapped. Worse, the desk starts to draw the chair closer, folds forming in the carpet underneath, until Elias is pulled painfully against the edge, the drawer’s handle digging into his stomach. Then there’s another pull and his chair tilts back. Something tugs at his legs, a force neither seen nor felt, no claws digging into his calves, until he’s balanced on the edge of his seat, nearly horizontal, unable to do anything but helplessly hold onto the desk.

For a terrible moment, Elias believes the desk is about to consume him. A ridiculous notion. Still, Elias can’t help cursing himself, the foolish impulsiveness of youth that he hasn’t managed to subdue yet.

A loud gasp escapes him when the drawer suddenly slides, impossibly inwards instead of further towards him, across the front of his trousers. Then it slides back, undeniably pressing down on him with the motion. Suddenly, he understands, a prickling sensation spreading across the back of his neck.

Part of him wants to scream for help, a remaining instinct from the past. But who could actually help? Gertrude, perhaps. But her suspicions towards James have probably carried over to Elias. And he is well-aware of her lack of sentimentality. The last thing he needs is an Archivist who has the upper hand on him in any way.

So whatever his Master is doing, he will have to endure it. Endure the humiliation of growing hard beneath the steady movement of the drawer against his cock, the feeling of dozens of eyes upon him in this pitiful position, the knowledge that every tiny gasp he makes is being recorded. And yet, covering his mouth is not an option. The tape recorder is running for a reason.

Elias is glad that his abilities allow him to monitor the movements of his everybody within the Institute. Enough rumours are circulating about him, about the things he must have done to get this position at such an age, and after only five years of employment, while others were working their entire lives for a chance to take the seat at the top. If only they knew seniority was hardly a chief requirement.

The drawer presses down on his erection, and Elias lets out a loud moan. An embarrassment. But a voice in his head objects, berates him for being ungrateful. His face burns as he starts moving his hips against the hard surface. It grows uncomfortable fast, but he tries to push these thoughts out of his mind. If his Master is rewarding him, he will accept his reward, and gladly.

Elias bucks his hips with self-imposed enthusiasm against the drawer, seeking more friction. The drawer slams into his lower ribs, making him yelp in pain. Then it remains still. And Elias remains trapped.

Tentatively, he repeats the movement, grinding his hips up. It’s worse having to do it himself, the position not allowing for much movement, not even for him to slip his hands in-between to at least open his trousers, remove one layer of clothing. And he is so painfully hard.

It doesn’t take long for sweat to start dripping down his temples. His breathing grows laboured as he continues rubbing himself against the drawer as well as he can, the indignity of the act setting his nerves ablaze. But it’s simply not enough.

“Please,” he whispers eventually, gaze directed at the knotholes as if they were the eyes of his Master. “Please…”

A laugh nearly bursts out of him when the drawer finally moves again. His body grows slack, taking what Beholding chooses to give him, only arching against the hard, wooden board when he reaches his peak.

He barely has time to catch his breath before his legs and the chair are abruptly released, nearly turning it over backwards. His fingers dig into the edge of the desk as he tries to find his balance in his awkward position. Slowly, he tips forward, only releasing his breath when he’s finally settled down, wincing as he tries to force his stiff limbs into a regular sitting position, trying to ignore the humiliating stickiness between his legs. He reaches for the tape recorder and freezes.

The desk has changed. Elias can’t tell when it happened or how. But now, all the knotholes are focused on him, twisted in the lines of the wood, transfixing him with their eyeless stare. A familiar shiver runs down his spine, awed fear combined with an electric pleasure.

He runs a trembling fingertip along the edges of one of the knotholes to the right, wondering what other secrets the desk hides, what other things it may have witnessed. He looks forward to finding out, and he dreads it, too. But he knows he will keep the desk.


End file.
